Forgotten Prophecy
by Clockworke
Summary: With the war over, and Malefor defeated, peace finally returns to the Dragon Realm. Or so it seems. With Spyro missing as the threat of a new conflict looms over, the Guardians struggle to hold on to the few moments of peace they have left. Before it all ends.
1. New Horizons

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places that belong to the Spyro franchise. All rights and claims belong to Activision.**

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><p>I<p>

New Horizons

It was a starless night unlike any other, with a moonless sky that held no light in the icy air. Morning approached but brought with it no day.

Darkness. That's all that it ever was. All around him, all consuming. Cold silence, never breaking. A black void that stretched as far as he could see; no beginning and no end. Forever he wandered in this vast expanse of space that dulled his hunger for reckoning with dread and despair.

How he despised the darkness with every strand of his lonesome being, when ironically enough it was the name he had chosen for nature of his power. They weren't necessarily evil, just frightening to some in how they appeared, but what should that matter? He had never sought to truly hurt anyone, unless he had to…

Growing wearisome at the thought of his state, he decided that he ought to look towards the Dragon Realm to alleviate his mind from boredom and ponder over it. The ability to scry was a rare one within dragons, and to do so without the aid of a pensieve (which others titled the Pool of Visions) was even rarer. Yet he was no ordinary dragon.

Closing his mind to his emotions was a simple task for someone in his position, for he knew that to even fill himself with rage would be to do so in vain. Relieving his mind of past tensions he gazed deeply into the endless happenings of the world, not a single soul aware of his presence.

While it did dismiss his mind from the somberness of his lackluster state, he only grew more envious of the lives before him. The freedom to move about as they please, the freedom to enjoy time as it passed, the freedom to love.

Then, to his utter distaste, he recalled the days he spent with those he had once called "friends". To have accepted for so long that he was treated like an equal amongst people who were held in high regard by others, was a mere fantasy that he so foolishly led himself to believe.

He felt his blood surge through his veins with unmistakable fury. His heart was filled to the core with hatred towards the very friends that forever banished him to this desolate realm.

Even at the height of his supremacy, when they witnessed the sheer devastation he could unleash at any given moment, they had the sheer audacity to send him howling into the void. They had taken precarious measures to ensure that he would never break free, using their powers in unison to create a magical barrier across the realm. While they could not slacken his grip on the planet, he was still limited by space and time. The fools couldn't even bring about themselves to see him breathe his last.

Or was it out of the belief that death was simply a punishment too merciful to someone of his nature? Of course they would want him to suffer. As such was his punishment; to never die, but to feel the constant longing of freedom that was nothing more but a memory of his past.

_"How poetic,"_ he thought. It was a fate not even he would wish upon anyone, not even those who betrayed him. No one should ever have to live in this dark unforgiving place for all eternity.

There was a time at the height of his power that the mere whisper of his name would be enough to fill their souls with ice. It was long since the days had he been shown any degree of reverence or fear. For now, he was the long forgotten memory of a tyrant who aimed to take over the realms by conquest; ruled by him as a god.

History had marked him as a caitiff, a malefactor. Someone who once held the benefit of others with high regard. Someone who started with such high minded intentions… Someone who was not prepared for the sheer seductive influence that is absolute power. Someone who only operated out of greed for personal gain.

Were his motives selfish? Perhaps. But that wasn't to say not everyone could benefit from them. All he had ever wanted to do was bring order to a world rampant with chaos. To do away with poverty, starvation, and war. For him rule as a god where god had failed.

Long since then the memory of his reign faded in legend and then onto myth, as well as his name. He was given many before and during his reign such as: Tyrant, Tempest, Conqueror, and Darkness. But only he remembered his name given to him by someone he once considered special:

Haven.

Despite all that he ever wanted, he sought to thrive with only one high minded intention: to have absolute power across the realms and sustain perfect harmony. And he had been so close he could almost grasp it with his claws, so very close…

Alas, it was swept away like all things that were once important to him.

At first, his early days of imprisonment were filled with bitter rage, leaving him to swear upon himself that he would take swift retribution on them all. But as the days and nights melded together, his anger had died out like a withering flame. Now he was filled with depression that tore what was left of his mangled heart into pieces.

Despite how long it's been, he never lost track of time in this painfully boring position. His fiery passions perished by the bleak boredom that served as his prison.

That is, until his eyes came across something that reawakened his senses after centuries of idleness. He let out a low sigh as he felt some of his power returning to him. He sensed something strange in the barrier that barred his magic. There was almost nothing there.

_What is this? _He thought, as he averted his eyes to source of this disturbance

_Amazing. It seems that young Spyro is more resilient than I anticipated. Such raw power_, he thought as his eyes widened in awe, a_nd for someone as inexperienced and youthful as he is. Perhaps Malefor is past his prime_.

"_Hold On! Just a bit further!" Spyro yelled in agony, as he let burst with a strong beam of convexity. Crossing beams with Cynder's, it created a strong surge of magic too much for Malefor to handle, overpowering his own._ _He screamed as he was thrown back by the devastating force of it all_.

It was remarkable, to watch someone as young as Spyro accomplish such high feats. Why, he was almost as powerful as Haven himself. But how? How is it that the purple whelping be deemed a match for someone as experienced and ruthless as Malefor? What is he hiding?

That was when he sensed it, a familiar sense of magic loomed over Spyro. Much to his own surprise, the darkness that Haven loathed was now surging through his body. It felt good. Everything felt so much better as the pain slowly melted away into nothing. He moaned with relief as it was no longer there. Though his prison was lower than any hell he had known, he grinned with malicious intent as his depressive thoughts started to turn about themselves.

Haven let out a steady stream of deep purple fire and fixed his gaze firmly upon it. He focused his mind on controlling its path, fueling it with his own energy. Closing his maw he watched it with deep interest as it hung the air seemingly of its own accord, sluggishly draining his own reservoir of magic. He relinquished his mental hold just as the flames dissipated, his lips curling with grim satisfaction.

His power may be limited yes, but now he could use it without fear or much constraint. With enough energy he would still be able to invoke his influence across the lands, but it will require cunningness and much deception. The sort of work that favors a scalpel instead of a sword.

His turned his eyes back to Spyro after several moments had passed, his deceptively lifeless body lay there inside a cavern deep within the earth. Haven had a good feeling about Spyro; unlike that of Malefor who only required the essence of his power for his imprudent, flawed and pitiful plan for destruction. Perhaps Spyro was not a lost cause like his predecessors. It may be tedious and challenging work, but Haven was convinced he would soon be able to bend the purple dragon to his will. In order to earn Spyro's trust, he would have to reach out to him.

_That shouldn't be too hard,_ he thought, _it will take a great deal of time but Spyro will soon learn his place in this world. He has a right to know, at the very least_.

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, I enjoyed writing it despite whatever flaws I have yet to find. <strong>

**Please review to let me know how I did so that I'll be able to better construct the next chapter. **

**I welcome valid and well-reasoned opinions on my work.**

**'Till next time.**


	2. A Dragonfly's Trials

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places that belong to the Spyro franchise. All rights and claims belong to Activision.**

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><p>II<p>

A Dragonfly's Trials

"Sparx! SPARX!" yelled a voice that cracked through the air like a while, causing a golden dragonfly to jump back in shock.

"What? Who?" Sparx asked, looking frantically around the tent for the source of the aggravated tone.

"Down here you pint-sized prick," the voice growled. Sparx slowly lowered his gaze to find a mole of average height. He was sporting a pair of black trousers, a striped vest, and brass specs that were as round as the moons themselves. Sparx supposed he would have looked sharp, if he wasn't covered head to toe in dirt.

"Oh, it's only you Trevor. Get back to me when it's my shift why don't cha? I'm still pretty early," Sparx replied coolly, turning his back. Trevor only rolled his eyes as he reached for a golden chain, dangling from his vest pocket.

"Fifteen minutes ago that might have been true," he growled in a low tone as he pulled out a gilded pocket watch and clicked it open. Trevor held it so close in front of Sparx there was only an inch of space between them. He pointed a long claw at its ticking hands. Sparx grunted as he tried to avert his gaze from Trevor's piercing glare.

"I swear that thing moves faster than it should," he muttered.

"Maybe _you_ oughta move faster, instead of dozing off every now and then with your head in the clouds," Trevor grumbled, "When you took on this job, you said you had no trouble coming in at crack o' dawn. But I'm startin' to doubt that now to be honest. Now will you _please_ stop messing about and get ready? I've got a new order for you. Hang on".

_Sheesh, who shit in his coffee this morning?_ Sparx wondered, glaring back at Trevor while he wasn't looking, _don't get your fur all caught up in a bunch over little ol' me._

Trevor rummaged around the inside of his vest, looking for an order form of some sort supposedly. Sparx busied himself by looking around Trevor's personal tent, it wasn't much. The project manager had assigned tents like these to all the foremen, Trevor being one of them. The white sheets hung low, but tall enough for someone of a mole's stature. That floor was made of wooden planks, still stained with mud and grime. Against one side, a brown cot lay just beside the open entrance. At the foot of it, a trunk resided. Most of its contents were unknown to Sparx as he only caught glimpses of it. Facing the opposite side, an assortment of scrolls and parchment lay atop a small office desk in a chaotic fashion, splattered with tiny drops of ink. "Ah here it is," he said, bringing Sparx back to his attention.

"Smaller than usual, but they'll know its official. Give it to Travis," he explained, handing Sparx a small roll of parchment sealed with a red ribbon.

"Metal works down at the docks right? No problem," Sparx said as he held it firmly in his tiny hand, the scroll was almost as tall as he was.

"And be quick it about!" Trevor said menacingly through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing. Sparx only snickered at this despite his own size; a mole just isn't the sort of the creature whose threats you would take seriously.

"Please, you're talking to the golden dragonfly of legend. I can make it across the city and back in about five minutes," he boasted, puffing his chest out with his hands on his sides.

"Just clear off will you," Trevor groaned, clearly annoyed by his antics.

"Say no more, heading off,"

"Remember! The day's only just begun! And you've got a lot of work ahead of you!" And with that Sparx left the construction tent just outside the main gate of Warfang. He shivered slightly as he met the cold and crisp morning air, hinting that summer was coming to an end.

With remarkable ease, he scaled across the city's massive walls and made his way towards the eastern district. Ever since the war's end, he had been able to admire to sights of Warfang without the constant fear of facing a fifty foot tall demon composed of fire and brimstone.

The sun was just visible as it sat on the horizon, casting beams of light through the thin mist that hung over the city, giving it a warm rosy glow. As it rose the sky became a glorious shade of deep blue, the calm colors of the night before mixing with the intense rays of the sun. It was nothing short of breath taking for Sparx.

The streets were bustling with moles as Sparx zipped his way though at breakneck speed like a small comet. He never paid as much as a second glance to those who looked up with gaping eyes.

"Ah, Riverside Harbor," he said, taking in a fresh breath of air, "Nothing quite like the smell of burning coal in the morning."

The harbor was one of the most labor frequent operations in Warfang at the moment. Vast ocean liners were docked in the ports that stretched far across the river bank. The foundry towered over many of the docking stations beside it, smoldering black clouds escaping from its high smokestacks.

As Sparx made his way over he noticed that the moles were caught up in a variety of toilsome tasks. Those residing on the ships were either moving barrels and crates out onto the deck from the level below, ensuring the strength of the rigging that held the sails, or oiling the masts. As for those on the port, they were found moving cargo into private storage houses, trading for supplies with other moles, or tending to the maintenance of ship's exterior.

Just as Sparx was about to enter through one of the foundry's roll shutter doors, a strange vessel, docked right outside the metal works caught his eye. It was unlike any other ship he had seen before, the entire hull was plated with metal rather than wood. Out on the top deck there was a tall cylinder that stood in the centre. Aside from this, it still carried the more common features of a ship such as a few masts, sails, and cannons. _Well there's something you don't see every day_, he thought _then again I've seen weirder crap to last me a life time, maybe two._

Upon entering the doorway, he was met by an endless racket and an oppressive heat. The cries of the workers were drowned out by the constant rhythmic ringing of metal being stuck. Sparx felt his insides shake with every loud _Clang!_

A sudden violent hiss made him jump back slightly as molten cast iron was poured into molds, organized into columns. Glowing embers shot into the air and swirled into a fiery dance before dying out. Near the far end of the foundry, Sparx saw a giant furnace that held a blazing inferno behind its steel bars that spat out flames at random, casting a vibrant orange glow within the foundry.

"Oi! Sparx! Up Here!" A gravelly voice bellowed over the racket of the metal works. Sparx looked up towards the rafters to find a mole waving cheerily at him through the grated floor. Sparx returned a smile as he flew up to the catwalk.

"Travis, how you doing pal? Workers givin' you any trouble?" Sparx asked in forcibly louder voice. Travis let out a booming laugh.

"Haven't complained yet have they? I only trust that it's Trevor who hasn't given you too much trouble,"

"Honestly, if you didn't tell me you two were brothers, I would have thought otherwise," Sparx replied, noticing that Travis was wearing a similar attire to Trevor's.

Travis was considerably warmer than Trevor when it came to dealing with their workers. His cheery nature was something that Sparx took an instant liking to, whether it was singing old sea shanties at the top of his voice or telling stories about unfortunate mishaps that led to minor injuries. It was clear that many of the workers liked him. Though despite this, Sparx heard from one of the workers himself that Travis had a short fuse when it came to dealing with lazy employees. Sparx decided it would be wise to not find out about this firsthand.

"Ah he's always been like that ever since the war, the fella's never let up with his attitude", explained Travis, and then he folded his arms and dropped his voice to low cold demeanour "_Grr, I've got my work. Grr, I've got my life. Grr and the two shall never meet._" Sparx, quite amused by this, stifled a laugh. "Never once came 'round the tavern for a drink or to share a laugh with the lads. He always says he's got to _work_,"

"Oh pish pash, life's too short to be deprived of small pleasures," said Sparx.

"My thoughts exactly. Anyways," his voice adopting a more business like tone "yah need something?"

"Oh! Yeah! That's right!" Sparx remembered, "Trevor needs a new shipment of construction materials as usual. I've got the order right here, details and everything," he finished, handing the scroll to Travis, to which he then stowed it inside his pocket.

"Alright then, let's get to it. Follow me," he ordered, rubbing his paws together. The pair of them headed down the catwalk and up a flight of half landing stairs. On the floor above they made their way towards a small alcove in the brick wall. Upon turning to it, a round steel door was revealed, with a red valve in its centre. Trevor firmly placed his paws on the valve and strained as he turned it anti-clockwise. Sparx watched with curiosity as the door slowly opened, groaning with every inch as its hinges turned.

"The door essentially acts as an airlock for the offices, blocking out the fumes and embers. It makes work less troublesome for the workers in here; being able to think with a clear head and not having to worry about documents being caught on fire," he explained, sighing as he was met with cooler air.

In spite of Sparx's frequent visits to the foundry, this was the first time he entered the office centre. The floor was composed of a hard stone as were the walls, except for a wide window frame that extended across the room, allowing for a clear view of the harbor below. Two rows of beautifully furnished desks sat in the room, Sparx counted six in total. They were occupied by five moles operating typewriters. They remained stoic as Travis entered, giving no indication they had noticed him. However, a couple of them looked up to glance at Sparx, but quickly resumed their work.

"Here we are," said Travis as he made his way towards the only vacant desk. He first drew a fresh document, then lifted a lever on the side of the machine as he placed the sheet onto the carriage. "Let's see now, what do we have," he muttered as his beady eyes turned back and forth from Sparx's order to the typewriter, punching in keys at a steady pace "two hundred steel beams…needed before end of month…quantity in each shipment...method of payment…gold…total sum…estimated delivery…ah there we are," finally filling out the last required fields of information.

"That all?" asked Sparx.

"Yeah, that's about it," Travis assured, he then proceeded to roll up the document and tie it with a small ribbon. "Try not to lose it on the way over, only then who knows what'll come to you by Trevor's hand,"

Sparx snorted, taking the document in his clenched hand "Pfff, as if he can scare me. He should be glad to know I'm holding back on the ol' one two!" He exclaimed, jabbing the empty air with his miniscule arms. Sparx then flew over to the window, and lifted open one of the glass panes.

"Hey I'll catch you later Travis! I gotta head back to the construction site! Trev's got me playing errand boy for the rest of the day!"

"Ha! You'll do best to not let him hear you say that!" he laughed, and with that Sparx took off, ready to face yet another long day.

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><p>"Oh Ancestors Almighty, I seriously need to consider retirement," Sparx yawned, blinking his bleary eyes, "at least I've got the day off tomorrow."<p>

Whatever light remained in the sky that evening was engulfed by darkness. Stars began to materialize in the darkened ocean above. The moons rose from behind the hills ahead in a slow accession.

The city always looked different to Sparx at night. It was as if their daytime counterparts had fallen to sleep and more ominous versions of themselves took their places, covered in a veil of blackness. Not a single soul lingered in the streets that night.

Sparx looked on as he made his way to the city's Temple grounds. The Guardians had granted him permission to use the Temple gardens as a home for the meantime. Occasionally he would catch sight of them striding through the halls at a rather fast pace, often too busy to stop for a chat. On the instance he did catch them, he would ask whether or not they had discovered any sign of Spyro. The answer was always the same "I'm afraid not Sparx," and upon seeing his reaction "I assure you we are hard at work searching for them. For now the trail seems cold and our resources are just stretched too far thin," Terrador would reply solemnly in his deep rumbling voice, "they're out there, we mustn't lose faith in them just yet".

Seeing as he had nothing better to do, Sparx requested that the Guardians make use of his talents to help them anyway he can. It was decided that Sparx would take the role of a messenger for the construction party, being that he can travel great distances quite quickly for someone his size. Day after day he would fly across the city running messages for contractors, suppliers, managers and engineers. Volteer assured him that it was not an insignificant contribution to the effort of Warfang's reconstruction, but it wasn't an easy task by any means either.

Evidently this was true, as the first couple days had proven to be hectic at most. It resulted in him receiving a heated lecture as to why watermelons don't make for effective projectiles, and while cannonballs are rich with iron, they don't agree too well with a mole's diet. Since then, Sparx worked hard on paying attention to vital information.

The gardens very much resembled a carpet of flowers with a few cobblestone paths that strode through. There were a variety of luscious colors and shapes that slowly swayed in the gentle wind. In the centre was a small island surrounded by a glistening pool of water that flowed from the lake leading outside the city's walls through a grate. On the island sat a great willow with soft lavender leaves. The branches served as a comfortable sleeping spot Sparx in the time he had been here.

After he found his usual spot, Sparx absentmindedly twiddled his thumbs while he gazed outside the city's walls. The silhouette of a dark crude mountain was just visible in the moonlight. His eyes never left the peak of Malefor's mountain.

It was almost unnerving, looking at the mountain that had served as his prison, waking up to be caught in the midst of an all-out war. Just watching it filled him with a sense of unease and worry. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering whether it would be worth a shot to leave the city to look for them. He told himself he should only be prepared to be disappointed, considering his past efforts.

What if he wasn't coming back? What if he chose to never come back? Would he leave his only brother?

No of course not, while there were many occasions he and Spyro argued (as countless siblings have done and always will), it surely wouldn't be enough for him to want to leave. Would it? What if something happened? What if he was dead?

Now he was just being stupid, only nine days had passed and he already assumed the worst for his brother. He wasn't going to carry on like this, moping about, drowning himself in sorrow. Spyro wouldn't want that, he would have preferred Sparx to enjoy his time out here.

_Damn it, what am I thinking. The guy's probably just enjoying a nice little break and he'll be back before I know it. Probably with Cynder, somewhere warm with the sand in his feet, sipping on one of those fruity drinks with the umbrella in 'em._

It brought an amusing image of Spyro to his mind; he was wearing a straw hat and a wreath of flowers around his neck, drinking out of a coconut shell with a tiny umbrella, on the shores of some tropical island. Sparx let out a small short chuckle, but it was short lived.

Returning his gaze to mountain, he mind was filled of thoughts of a muck filled swamp, purple scales, and happier days. Sparx sighed wistfully as he silently wondered what the next day may bring.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it,<strong>

**Please review to let me know how I did so that I'll be able to better construct the next chapter.**

**I welcome valid and well-reasoned opinions on my work.**

**'Till next time.**


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